Drabbles By Moonlight
by Candy Apple Heart Attack
Summary: Vignettes of love, blood and laughter; friends, enemies and all those points in between. Drabble-Shots
1. Desires

**Chip:** Ehe, hey guys! I know some of your are eagerly awaiting an update on my other Vampire Knight story, "Blood Bonds" and I assure you, my beloved editor (Dale, truly) is driving me with a whip. Just to reassure you that I'm still alive (though I've been dreadfully busy) I'm giving you kiddies a present.

I offer up to you, the starving hordes, my own drabbles for the Vampire Knight fandom. Multi, random pairings and senseless, failed humor. Prepare yourself for it; pray, if you have to. Be aware that I take no money or reward from this (besides your reviews) and do it only out of love.

So, here you go.

* * *

**"Drabbles By Moonlight"**

* * *

[Desires]

The marble pillars of the smaller ballroom held the cathedral ceiling aloft above his head, making space for the silence only an empty estate such as this one could create on its own.

Kaname-sama was away this evening on urgent business with the newly elected council members, yet again. The governors of their society were a tedious lot and their management was something that their King deigned to do himself, leaving his mate at home.

And it was Hanabusa's job to make sure the Queen was well entertained.

He bowed low to the lady as she entertained the ballroom, holding his gaze to the ground in respect. She made no sound but was very suddenly at his side, her small warm hands on his cheeks to draw his head up. She gave him the most minute of smiles, her gloriously burgundy eyes burning low behind half-mast pale eyelids and too-long lashes.

She drew him from his bow and he took her in his arms, positioned as she willed him to be. She was his charge, in Kaname's absence; his duty was to please her.

There was no music, no rhythm or rhyme. There was only the near-quiet sound of her long dress fluttering like gossamer between them with every step and the soft tap of his shoes on the floor. She danced barefoot, as she always did.

It was something, a trait, all her own.

Distinctly the Queen and still, some how, the ridiculous human girl he'd once been so hell-bent on tasting.

But those were thoughts best left unsaid, unreviewed. Her power to pierce the veil between her mind and his was growing increasingly from one rising to the next.

She gave him another little smile as he turned her about, her skirt whispering against the fabric of his slacks. Her hair hung in a fragrant fall down her back, teasing at his senses with the scent of lulling lavender and sensual jasmine.

If her hands in his are a little too comfortable, too warm, it is no fault of theirs. His hands are always cold, always chilled. His eyes are the shade of ice, but if they soften to liquid topaz when he looks at her, it cannot be helped.

Even if she stretches on her toes to press the softest of kisses against the curve of his jaw, she does not say she loves him.

Because he is her guardian when her lover is away; nothing more, nothing less.

There are no words of love between them, but like the wild absence of the music in this silent home...

...it does not keep him from fulfilling her desires.


	2. Consumption

[Consumption]

Zero hates mirrors. He hates looking into them, unsure each morning what he might see. Would it be the flickering, burning red of insanity dancing in the corner of his vision? Bloodlust rose so quickly, sometimes; it scalded and crawled up the back of his throat, creeping into his mind with all the subtlety of a hungry wolf.

He _hungered_.

Already, though, he was fueled by the blood of monsters. That woman--everything about her white and light pink, the exact shade of a blood-stained blanket not-quite-cleaned by chemicals; her blood is in him.

_Her madness is in him._

And that other--the Kuran, who's blood was acid to one such as him, and still some how desirable. The rich purity of that blood stripped the delicate tissue of his throat as he drank, ate at the lining of his stomach and left hot trails through his veins as it was absorbed and spread throughout his body.

_That detestable prick is inside him._

Ichiru, the twin he lost and the stranger he hardly recognized--same body, different persons. His body made whole by the blood of their clan's murderer; his heart, turned hard, by the workings of Fate and the neglect of their parents.

_His blood, flowing over a lapping tongue as he pressed Zero back into the stone wall._

Amazing; it seemed not even the Bloody Rose was save. In his hands, while his brother's body cooled beside him in the dungeon, the gun changed shape. He pressed it to his lips and then slid it down, against his bare chest--and watched it disappear inside him, slowly. The action was vaguely sensual--the length of spelled weaponry hiding beneath his flesh--but it was ruined by the sense of sadness that swept through him.

_Another, consumed._

He thinks back on the irony of that--his hunger, which devours all. He has taken bites of many things--Kaname, Ichiru and through them, Shizuka. And the first among them all--the first of all his victims--Yuuki.

Her words come to him like the fluttering of wicked wings in the darkness.

_"The vampire side of Yuuki ate the other part..."_

In a way, he's glad of that--despite the burn in his chest and the wild, rapid beating of his heart. _Denial, it screams._ No, he must be glad.

Because even in his hunger, he managed to spare the one creature who was most deserving of the kindness. He has not consumed her.

But she _was_ consumed, no doubt.

By some other thing, some other _one_.

He feels that perhaps, _she_ has consumed _him_.

He doesn't think he minds.


	3. Appearances

[Appearance]

His fixation on her features was not an accident of chance. He knew every facet of her appearance, by memory. Long days of dreaming paired with long evenings spent craving her taste and sketching her profile in his notebook.

Her hair was plain brown and short, not at all beautiful. It was soft and smelled pleasantly enough, but there was nothing special about it. It wasn't golden like Rima's or even long and luxurious like Ruka's.

So what made him ache to sink his hands into the strands and hold on forever?

Her eyes were the same plain brown as her hair, though maybe a little richer in the redwood shades. Still, when those eyes fell on him, he found himself looking into them, searching there for what haunted him.

And found nothing.

Her lips were small and full, but not luscious or even tempting.

Her scent was floral, sure, and reminded him of the lingering scent of night jasmine, though he couldn't place the sweeter, lighter tone that rode above the heady fragrance.

Her blood, singing through her veins with each step and breath, called to him. It rushed and it flowed, like clear, cool river water over stones. She was _refreshing_, if nothing else.

Groaning, Hanabusa slammed his sketchbook shut over the lightly sketched image of Cross Yuuki and shoved the offending notebook away, though it only slid an inch or so. That was fine; he couldn't afford to leave the damn thing lying around anyway.

Takuma was ever so _anxious_ to peek.


	4. Permission

[Permission]

Cross Kaien was not a serious man. Or rather, he was not a serious man very often. There was a certain something to be gained in remaining open to all of lives quirks and curve-balls; a pleasance to understanding that some things were out of your control and should be viewed as comic relief.

But the young man--young vampire--seated across from him was not at all in a joking, laughing sort of mood; not that he ever was. Kaien could count, on one hand, the number of times he'd seen the Kuran boy laugh.

"You're answer, Chairman?" Kaname's words were soft-spoken, as always, but underlined by urgency. His eyes were narrow fields of garnet.

"Ah, well, Kaname-kun, you see..."

Standing unobtrusively in the far corner--because Kaien had told him not to leave--was the hunter, Yagari. He snorted. "Now is not the time to stall, Cross."

"Ah, well, Yagari-san..." Kaien's hand drifted out from under his draping shawl, to tug the edges more tightly together. It was suddenly becoming very cold in the room.

"Why the hell are you even bothering, Kuran?" Zero's eyes were very chilly, like his tone. "Isn't it your preoccupation to go around, commanding your will?" Like Yagari, Zero had stayed when Kaname entered; unlike Yagari, he did it just to be in the way.

Kaname's gaze flickered over the ex-human. "It is Yuuki's will that I do now. Upon this, she insisted." His arms, crossed over his chest in an uncharacteristic display of annoyance, shifted ever so subtly. "Chairman, you answer."

"Kaname-kun, pardon me for saying what an old, silly-man like me must, but..." Kaien trailed off, in the hopes that perhaps his would-be son or former partner might correct his estimation of himself; alas, shattered hope. He sighed, then. "But, wasn't this all planned out some time ago?"

"Yes, but Yuuki considers you the only authority she need obey in the matter. As her father and as the Chairman of this academy."

"Yes, well, I suppose so." Kaien blushed, flattered by his little Yuuki-chan. Such a cute, wonderful, dutiful daughter! What better could he have asked for? Nothing, nothing! Star-shine and smiles and laughter all the time; why, he couldn't have dreamed a better daughter than--

"Chairman."

"Oh, yes, sorry." Kaien cleared his throat. "Well, appreciative as I am of Yuuki's thoughtfulness--and yours, Kaname-kun--you're really the boss around here, aren't you? You could just...order me, if you like."

Kaname raised an eyebrow, "Yes, but would you listen?"

Kaien nodded quickly. "Oh, yes--listen, quite emphatically; obey? Perhaps not." He sighed, making a great deal of tugging at the ends of his shawl. "But I suppose...if this is Yuuki's wish...that I, as her loving, sweet, kind-hearted papa...must do this, then..."

"Chairman, my patience wears thin."

"So impatient, for a prince with all eternity spinning in the palm of his hand," Yagari noted.

"And then some," added Zero, dryly.

Kaname ignored them. "Your answer, Chairman."

Kaien let the dramatic pause lengthen, become pregnant and linger. Then, on a heavy sigh of long-sufferring understanding (and with a practiced manner), he said, "Yes."

"Yes?" Kaname prompted.

"Yes, you--Kuran Kaname--may take my daughter, your sister Yuuki, to be your wife."

In the corner, Yagari made a sound of exasperated satisfaction--something along the lines of "_finally_". Zero cursed, loudly, as Kaname's lips curved upward in a slight smile.

"I thank you, Chairman. Your blessing will mean a great deal to Yuuki."

"The pleasure is, of course, mine Kaname-kun." Kaien waited for Kaname to rise from his chair.

"There is, of course, a stipulation to my agreement."

Everyone froze.

Kaname's gaze turned suspicious in a way that reminded Kaien that--despite the soul of a millennia old Kuran ancestor living within him--the boy himself was only eighteen or so. The thought brought a lighter, cheerier feel to Kaien's mood.

"Of course, Kaname-kun, in return for permission to marry my most precious Yuuki-chan, I will be--_of course_--planning your wedding ceremony _and_ reception."

The silence that fell could have choked a horse.

The looks of abject horror--not just on Kaname's face, but also Yagari and Zero--was worth the beating he could sense coming from his rather hot-headed companions. Kaien's smile became devious at the corners and spread across his lips, like a jester's grin. From the open drawer beside him, he withdrew a large, over-stuffed file folder visibly jammed with magazine cut outs and printed pages of bright, colorful wedding decorations. He held it out with both hands--because it was so damned heavy--and offered it to the three men, as one.

Suggestively, with the barest hint of a smile, he said. "Would you like to see my plans?"

Yagari pushed off the wall, cracking his knuckles; Zero was a step behind him, fists clenching. Kaien's smile withered for a moment, though he didn't drop the file folder.

Kaname wisely chose that moment to take his leave, closing the oaken doors solidly behind him.

That night, the vampiric classmates of the academy got very little work done.

The sounds of muffled yelping--in the Chairman's distinct tones--was audible throughout the campus grounds for _hours_.


	5. Play Time

[Play Time]

When vampire children are young, they act as any other child might; impetuous, foolish, and quick to over-reach their limits. In the case of the small group of intermarried families that formed the upper tier of the noble-class, the children were of serious danger to each other, themselves and the world in general.

When Hanabusa and Akatsuki decided to play "tag", the game consisted not of bouts of running and catching, but rather of dodging fireballs and ice torrents. By the time the two had progressed to age eight, they're caretakers forbade them from use of their gifts in anything less than an emergency.

Between them, the close cousins shared more than two hundred incidents of frostbite and third-degree burns.

All in good fun, of course.


	6. Games

[Games]

Senri has always loved games; to play, to win. His enjoyment is not, perhaps, the most easily-read of expressions, but to Takuma, it's clear like very little in their lives ever is. To him, Senri's games are a matter of course; a way of life. To lighten the darkest of days, to ease the burden that weighs him down; the weight of his grandfather's will, the press of forces he can't hope to control.

For both Senri and Takuma, the games are an escape.

Perhaps it's the dynastic aims of his grandfather, but from his earliest memory Takuma can recall Senri's presence in his home and in his life. Always, the boy with the unfocused silver gaze and hair the color of freshly split blood--Senri has always been there.

* * *

When they are still young, they play cards. The simple games first, then the more difficult. Takuma prefers Twenty-Ones, where knowing when to stop is the key component--where an excellent memory of the past and an intuitive, educated understanding of principle can grant a player the upper hand.

He wins nearly every hand and never loses a game, wholly.

For Senri, the game of choice is poker--any kind. Odds stacked all around like towering monoliths and the influence of chance at its strongest power. From his chips he constructed castles and plazas; spirals with three-chip floors and flowers of suited color. Invariably, the constructs fall and are sacrificed in time; Senri's luck fails him, often. More often than not, he's low-stacked and falling behind.

But, in the end, he always comes back strong. Takuma never wins the game.

* * *

When they are in their adolescence, Rima becomes a greater part of their time together. At first, Takuma cannot help but be jealous of her presence; golden, quiet and soothing. Senri's acceptance of her is instant and chafes, slightly, at Takuma's greatest fear.

But Rima has _not_ replaced him; Senri proves that more than once. The special utility of emotional expression is not his friend's forte--Takuma knows--but it's in the way Senri touches his defeated pieces when they play chess, and the way in which he watches from across the room, when Takuma reads.

It's in the way his eyes stray away, even when Rima brushes his hair.

Takuma learns, with time, to accept Rima as a friend--and he realizes that her quiet, soothing nature calms him much as Senri's does.

* * *

When they turn fifteen, the game Senri wants to play is new and Takuma can only accept it with widened eyes and hitched breath. He's never considered his friend in a sexual light, but given the nature of their strange friendship, perhaps it was only a matter of time.

Their embraces are never hurried or frenzied or any of those things that one might associate with impassioned young men in the haze of enjoyment; rather, their touches are sensual as opposed to sexual.

It always starts with a kiss; to the cheek or the back of the hand.

It always ends with a kiss as well, though it's flavored with the sweet, intermingled tastes of their blood and shared between their lips, tongues swallowing the evidence of their bond.

Where Rima disappears to during this time, neither can really say. She is simply there and then, gone--and always just before the torment of not touching one another breaks their hold on social politeness.

She always returns though, some time later. Her eyes speak of awareness, but her lips never open to tell of it. She only gives them the assurance that their secret is between them three--the half-lidded gaze of a silver bluer than Senri's.

And a small, inconceivable smile, gifted to Takuma.

They call this game Secret-Keeper, and while they are all winners, Rima plays it best.


	7. Drench

[Drench]

Steam rose from the water's blue-silver surface, touched as it was by the moonlight and set to dance by the movements of one fluid flick of pale, bare legs. Rich chestnut locks floated like tendrils around her, shielding her body from view one moment and then slipping away, to reveal it clearly in the next.

From his post in the gentle niche of the enclosing stonework, Kaname's gaze was steady; eyes the same endless color as the merlot in the crystal sifter, which he held in elegantly in the palm of hand, the stem hanging down between his fingers. His own hair hung low into his face though he stayed well above the water's gentle lap. He seemed much more content to watch his mate swim in the onsen, their private treat.

She was truly a figure of magnificent beauty, her body at once a sculpture with a thousand hidden mysteries and a familiar model, with mechanisms most-familiar. He loved to touch her, to feel the perfect silk of her skin under his fingertips and to taste the sweetness of her lips, a smooth, bloody kiss shared between them.

Ten years he had waited. Ten years for her to grow from his child-fiance, to the elegant image of a pureblood-princess in full radiance; all grace and curves, power and mystique. Her intent was always honest, her every emotion open and genuine; no guile in her, in the least.

He loves to ravish her, to make her cry out in wordless want--and then to give it to her, until she begged for respite. He loves to bathe with her after, to take her again when she thinks she's safe from his advances beneath the spray of the shower-head. She protests over-much, but it's good-natured and the dancing spark of passion in her eye is ever-present. A young vampiress, full of her own energy. Never had there been a more sexual creature than this girl.

And best of all, perhaps, are these quiet moments in which he might study her. The dry, robust flavor of the merlot on his tongue is nothing to her taste; the smooth, rounded delicacy of the goblet's billowing crystal can not compare to her seamless, porcelain arrangement. The color of her eyes is almost as dark as his own--as dark as her cheeks, flushed with blood--in the heat of their mating and love-making.

Her hair is a silken torrent he catches between his fingers and bunches in his hands, to better capture _her_ for his own.

It's hard, sometimes, to recall that he has already won--she _is_ his. As she has always been; as she always will be. His sister, his friend; his lover and his mate, for all time. When he does remember, it never fails to bring a small smile to his face--a genuine smile.

Still, it never hurts to soak in the beauty of a prized possession.

He so enjoys watching her.

One day, he swears, he will drown himself in her until there is no up, no down and no air. There must only be his body in hers and _her_, all around him. In every part of him. Touching, as only she can.

He wants to be drenched in her passion.


	8. Umbrella

[Umbrella]

When they are children, they make the mistake of staying over-long in the forests surrounding the Shiki Estate. The rain storm pins them down, leaving them to take shelter beneath the cover of the trees and their wide branches.

Senri's shoes are covered in splattered mud.

Rima's dress is ruined by water and yet more mud.

They can't care less, of course.

* * *

When they are eleven years old, they are separated.

Rima's skin is fair and very sensitive, even for one of their kind. Her mother, a model herself, warns against exposure to the Sun and orders her daughter to stay inside.

To say that Senri was none-too-pleased was, perhaps, the greatest understatement one could make. The young noble lord marched escape from his own home, slipping away from the lazy servants sent to keep watch over him. To the closest human market place, he went. To a vendor, who sold parasols.

Looking them over--the whole collection of ranging from frilly to elegant, to overwrought and ridiculous--he found himself at a loss, as to a single choice. He hesitated a moment too long.

The old vendor leaned over the counter top of his cart and said, "These are very expensive, boy; perhaps you should seek your sport elsewhere, hm?"

Senri's gaze narrowed, ever so slightly, before he reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew a small fortune in paper bills. He shoved the wad of currency into the man's general direction, settling for dropping the lump onto the counter when the man refused to take it from him.

"There," the young noble said, "Now, give me all of them."

The old vendor took one look at the money--and then back at the thirty or so parasols in his cart--before nodding emphatically and bowing quite deeply. "As you wish, my lord."

"Indeed," Senri said quietly.

It was amazing what money could do.

* * *

Maybe it's because her family's estate is situated in the rainy country, like his--or that her skin reddens easily in the Sun's light. Maybe it's because she's anal about her hair or hyper-aware of her appearance at all times, but...

...following that day, when they were eleven, Senri has never seen Rima without an umbrella.

In this game he sometimes plays with her--the game that has no name, but all the stakes in the world and their hearts in the balance--there's never a "win" and a "lose".

Only a score.

She is his friend.

She carries his gift, still.

She feeds him.

He considers those points in his favor, at the very least.


	9. Sharp

[Sharp]

Beauty, mystery, darkness.

Seiren thinks that must be what human females see when they look upon their Kuran-sama, but she can't be sure. She's never been human and only once, a female. She doesn't pretend to understand the mechanics of their psyche.

As for herself, she does not deny that there is a greater attraction to Kaname-sama than all the others; it's the aura of a pureblood, the lure of being their favored servant. It's bred into all of them--in their blood, their make-up--to _want_ to serve.

She is happy to does as Kaname-sama bids; her will is his to command. Though she boasts no power of the nature, like Aido and Kain, she is rather talented with weaponry and aches to be of use to her lord.

"Your mind is as sharp as your blade," he once says to her, in passing.

She remembers the compliment for all time--holds it close to her heart, a boon from some greater god than any she might find in religion. To her, he is the moon in the sky and the sun, rising to heaven.

He is all-life and all-death, in her eyes.

She pledges herself to his side, as his guard, his blade; his protector, should their ever be need.

Her life is his.


	10. Blossom

[Blossom]

From behind slated windows and barred doorways, she can glimpse paths she's forbidden to travel and a world from which she's been locked away. In the reflection of highly polished wood floors, she finds her own gaze warbled and distant.

In the silence, she finds no comfort; in solitude, no solace. What sin she has committed, she cannot fathom; of what trick she must perform to be freed, she has no conception.

* * *

They bring her sustenance in the form of captured wretches, always male. She supposes this to be one of _his_ stipulations--him, her betrayer. His cold, clawed hands--beautiful, deadly--encompass all of this; his signature might have been scrawled in blood across the walls of this place for all the subtlety present.

He is angered with her, she believes. It explained so much, and somehow very little. The sense of his touch was there; but where was the reason? She knew him to be intelligent--far too intelligent. He had a purpose, she felt sure.

* * *

She sees the Kuran's boy-child for the first time, looking so much like a smaller, more innocent form of her captor that she has to smile. The expression feels withered on her lips; too dry, too long unpracticed.

The boy does not return the smile and she thinks that he might be a greater deal like his Uncle than she originally thought.

"I pity you," she tells him. She passes him going one direction--and he going another. Through the slated walls, she can see that his gaze follows her closely and she is happy to be _seen_.

"Flowers are not meant to be kept in cages," he says back.

The look of understanding that passes between them makes her wonder what a Kuran child--so young--could know of cages and blood.

* * *

They bring her another wretch--male, as always. He watches her from across the space of the room where she takes her meals, his legs folded beneath him and his head bowed low in respect. She does not go to him.

"Do you not fear death?"

The man does not look up. "I do not."

"And you do not fear me, then?"

At this, he does glance up. His gaze slips upward slowly, climbing from the tatami mat beneath her, to the fabric of her kimono; higher still, to the breaking of brighter color in her obi, then to her face.

He meets her gaze head-on, the absence of shadows in his eyes saying much. His lips, kissed at the corners with laugh lines, tilt upward crookedly.

"It would be good to taste death in the arms of a goddess."

She decides that, for all that he is a flatterer, she will keep him.

It has been far too quiet in her cage.

* * *

He lightens the monotony in unexpected ways. He is allowed to venture into the gardens of this compounded cage they share; he brings her gifts of flowers that smell of sweet earth and sunshine. He puts them in vases--dozens of them--and leaves them on end tables and shelves, for her enjoyment. When they begin to wither, he hangs them from their stems to allow them to dry in perfect form; he calls it floral immortality and she laughs at his whimsy.

When she comments--idly--that her hair is becoming a nuisance, he suggests a change of style. For a moment she is so shocked at the simplicity of the idea that she's speechless.

He laughs at her small, opened mouth stare and fetches a length of ribbon. From the collection of sacred bells scattered throughout their cage, he choses one. Threading the golden charm onto the ribbon, he ties it into her hair.

"There," he proclaims softly, "a new look, for the goddess."

She reviews his work in the looking glass, by the window. The moonlight, streaming through the bars, turns her skin paler than it should be and her hair into mercury. She likes the reflection of silver in her eyes and the gleam of it on her fingernails.

When she walks into his embrace, the bell chimes, softly.

She is most pleased.

* * *

Though his existence is tolerated, she knows his presence infuriates her captor. Still, she is glad of her companion, happier than she has been in years.

It is not unreasonable, after all, that she not be alone.

The progression of their relationship is slow, subtle even.

In the beginning, as the wretch-human, he is worshipful and wry with humor in the face of inevitable death. It was that which caught her attention and stilled her hunger. The crooked curve of his lip and the laughter hiding in his eyes.

After his rebirth, he is needy and hungry; misinformed, as well. He thinks is goal is to serve and to assist. She takes several long days and nights to tell him differently.

Then he is sweet, jovial. He brings her gifts and coaxes laughter from whatever hole it has been hiding in since her imprisonment. He braids her hair and pantomimes classical plays, sometimes acted all the parts at once.

Later--much time later--he is needy again, though in a different sense. Blood is between them--his in her, hers in him. He aches with the bond between them; needs her to touch him, to be with him. She is older, natural. She understands the burn and is better at suppressing it.

In the end, however, she gives in. What is so wrong, she thinks, in giving herself to a man? Pleasure is not a forbidden gift, but rather a welcome one. Why should she withhold herself from what could be hers, so wholly, out of duty to another who did nothing of the kind?

So she lets him make love to her, as he calls it. She knows it by another word, but he finds the word "mating" distasteful and requests that she avoid using it. She agrees, because he asks so little of her.

As a pureblood, she has bound herself to her fledgling. As a vampire, she has bound herself to a once-mortal lover.

As a woman, she has found a man who makes her smile; one to ease the ache and burden of sacrificing one's happiness out of obligation.

She is willing to admit that she loves this man.

* * *

But somehow, that which was hers is stolen.

Again.

Like her freedom, like her choices, he is gone.

Taken.

By hunters, by treachery. By that man.

Demon.

She hurts, aches. Her heart beats pure agony.

Silence.

She cannot scream, she cannot wail.

Fight.

She will take revenge. She will destroy.

_Everything_.


	11. Safe

[Safe]

What there is of the world, Yuuki cannot say--there's only the academy, the Chairman, her classes, her friends...and the vampires. Where any normal girl grew up with dolls and day-dreams, Yuuki had night-patrols and night-terrors. She had fear of crowded, unfamiliar places; she had fear of standing alone, in darkness and the cold.

She had a fear of being unsafe, without protection. She knows it, and knows that Zero knows it as well.

* * *

The thirst for her is endless, the spiral downward...

But he's not a monster--not yet--and he can't leave her to face her fears alone. So, even though he's exhausted and hasn't taken his tablets in a week, he accompanies her out into the bustling, overpopulated town to pick up some supplies for the Chairman. And, even though the waitress gives him a come-hither smile that tells him she'd be an easy meal, he allows Yuuki to pull him into the ice-cream parlor and takes the seat furthest from the outside edge.

He knows that she's brave--and that she'd do anything to hold on to that. But he also knows that the darkness of the academy grounds produces shadows from nothing and haunts her every step. Something stalks her in the night, terrifying her in a way that she cannot combat.

He can't shield her from the nightmares; the flash of fear in her eyes when some one gets too close. He's aware of the way her breath hitches when Aido comes too close or the subtle shiver that passes over her when Ruka focuses her gaze on her.

Yuuki lived with the constant torment of memories only half-remembered and impressions so deeply ingrained, they were instinct.

He can't shield her from all of it.

But he can damn well try.


	12. Control

[Control]

Every evening, she rises to attend classes; every evening, she brushes her hair and dons her pristine uniform. For Kaname-sama's attention, she dabs essence of rose on her throat--because she knows he favors the flower.

But he never more than glances at her--not since that night, so long ago. Only once has he taken her blood--and never again.

She's unable to decide if it's more hurtful or infuriating.

Because she knows why, of course. The reason is obvious, though what would drive a pureblood--a god--such as Kaname-sama to bow to the will of a human girl, Ruka cannot begin to imagine.

But Cross Yuuki is the cause of Kaname-sama's distance.

Ruka knows it; senses it.

* * *

Regardless of Kaname-sama's will, sometimes she entertains the idea of killing the Cross girl. Out of sheer spite, she toys with the image in her mind--imagines all the many different ways she could do it.

With her gift, she can control--it has been her power since birth and to use it over the human would make her feel..._all powerful._

She could take possession of the girl's will and make her publicly shame herself--make her run naked through the halls during classes, screaming her own name.

She might order her to kiss that ugly toad of a class-president she has, in front of Kaname-sama--so he might see how unworthy she is of him.

Ruka could invite her to the Moon Dormitory for tea and then force her to swallow chipped glass in a saucer of salt water and vinegar.

Cross Yuuki could have an unfortunate accident while on patrol, slipping off a cliff to plummet to her death at the rocky bottom of the gorge. She could break her neck on the way down, so there'd be no opportunity for vampiric immortality.

And Ruka would, of course, be very mournful and supportive in Kaname-sama's time of need.

Still, she only entertains these ideas _sometimes_. Far too often, Akatsuki's gaze catches hers from across the room, as if he understands knows exactly to where her thoughts have strayed and disapproves.

Far worse, though, are the occasions when Kaname-sama's eyes land on her, half-lidded and darker than she remembers them. Always, his lips are set in a firm line that says nothing of the years in which she has been his loyal companion.

There is only the implacable diamond-hard will of their pureblood lord.

It is that look alone that forestalls Ruka's fruitless day-dreams.


	13. Meet

[Meet]

The first time she sees him, Yuuki is only eleven and very proud of her Papa's faith in her abilities. Zero-kun stands beside her as they greet the members of the Night Class one by one, the introductions overseen by Kaname-kun.

Yuuki could find no fault with these new-comers; they were just nice-people like Kaname-kun--and so _pretty_. She met the eyes of the tall, long-haired girl with the pretty brown eyes--and was a little surprised when the one called Ruka didn't smile back. Beside her, a man with orange-red hair shrugged.

Yuuki's gaze fell as Kaname paused in his introductions. She felt a chill sweep up her spine, because it was obvious that Ruka-san wasn't friendly.

A pale hand presented itself in front of her face and she glanced up, startled, to meet the gaze of a new person--kind eyes, blue like the sky on a summer morning. His smile was small but open, if not welcoming. He bowed his head to her once.

She took his hand and kissed the fingertips in the way Papa had told her was sort-of polite for nobles. The other boy's eyes widened and she ducked her head, afraid she messed up again. Without thought, she rushed through the introductions.

"I am Cross Yuuki and on behalf of my Papa, the Chairman, I welcome you to the Academy." She snatched her hand away and bowed again. When she tried peak up at him through her lashes, he's gone and Kaname-kun is standing closer than before.

"Thank you, Yuuki. Please go home to the Chairman's house and don't stop until you get there. I will be by later." He turns away with a single nod to Zero that Yuuki thinks is very important but doesn't try to decipher.

Zero takes her hand and leads her away, back down the forest path.

Confused by the sudden ending to the introductions, she turned her head and saw that the blue-eyed boy was standing on the far side of the clearing, glaring at her.

And his eyes were _cold_.


	14. Moonlight

[Moonlight]

_"Stay away from Cross Yuuki."_

That was Kaname-sama's order and it had to be followed--he'd done his best. But what kind of trick was the universe playing on him tonight, that _he_ should be the one to stumble across her in this state?

What kind of stupid brat falls asleep on a staircase anyway?

He stared down at her, the glass of fruit-juice held in one hand as the other swept back through his already messy hair. He didn't know what to do about this. If Kaname came in and found her, there'd be hell--but if he touched her, he'd be in big trouble, personally.

But God-forbid anything happen to her...

Hanabusa groaned, but managed to turn away.

From the shadows, he could keep watch over her, but he wouldn't be caught dead--or chance an untimely brush with his own demise--by standing over her like the predator he was.

Kaname would come soon.

Or rather, Hanabusa fervently hoped he would.


	15. Flare

[Flare]

He's never been the aggressive sort--not with her--but Ruka thinks that, perhaps, she might have overestimated his patience.

He presses her back into the wall, unconcerned with the apparent lack of privacy afforded by this hallway. His hands are planted on either side of her head, caging her in; he rests his weight on one leg, sliding one knee between hers to trap her in place.

Her name slips from his lips on a warm breath, which fans across her cheek and past her ear. Her eyes flutter closed and she turns her head away, not wanting to meet his gaze--but he's having none of it and capture's her chin between his fingers. He turns her head and inclines his own, putting his cheek against hers and his lips scant centimeters from the shell of her ear.

"You make me burn, Ruka."

She shivers, the thrill of his desire sweeping through her. He has never made any secret of his want for her, but to be spoken to in such blatant heat...

He _scorches_ her.

His other hand falls from the wall, to slide over her shoulder and down her arm. He captures her wrist in his hand and brings it up abruptly, pressing it against the wall. She struggles weakly against his hold; she tries to push him away with her free hand, but quicker than she imagined possible, he's pinned it above her head as well.

He holds her in place with his body pressed against hers and his lips teasing the delicate flesh of her throat. She feels his fangs brush, minutely, above her fluttering pulse and her back arches in response.

His whisper is hot, like the desert and the tangle of silk sheets.

"Do not deny me."

And for all the life of her, she cannot.


	16. Cry

[Cry]

Rima has no siblings, no cousins and no neighborhood friends. Her mother has been dead for so long, she can no longer remember her face; her father is an important noble on the council, always away on business.

With Senri and Takuma she learns for the first time what 'friendship' --in all its complex forms--can mean. She enjoys their company greatly, wholly--and though she's never been a master of expressions, she tries to convey that appreciation to them every day.

* * *

Unused to restrictions of any kind, she's shocked by Senri's refusal of her company. One evening, they're playing cards and he tells her, over a hand, that he might be unable to see her on the next day.

She's startled, unhappy instantly.

"That's fine, I guess," she struggles for normalcy, "Takuma and I will keep each other company until you come home."

But the look of guilt on Takuma's face says that he's unavailable as well.

"Takuma will be with me," Senri says, his eyes examining his cards.

"Oh," she says dully, then throws down her hand and excuses herself to use the bathroom.

It was only a lousy three-of-a-kind anyway.

* * *

On another evening, she rises from bed early to shower and do something manageable with her hair. Senri said it might look good in pig-tails and--though she struggles to wield the brush properly--she gets it done.

She agrees; it looks nice.

She's dressed and waiting by six o'clock, though she knows he won't rise until nearly eight. Still, she waits for him, as she always does.

When his call does not come at eight, she thinks that--perhaps--he's over slept. No matter; she arranges for her driver to take her to the estate.

However, when she arrives, the doorman informs her that Young-Master Shiki isn't at home--that he left several hours before.

To where, Rima asks.

To visit with some friends; it is all he can tell her. No names, no estates. Simply that Senri is gone and, apparently, Takuma with him.

That evening, Rima returns to her home and for the second time in twice as many days, cries until her eyes droop and her body gives out on her exhaustion. She collapses into a dreamless, unfulfilling sleep--still wearing her going-out clothes, though the pig-tails come loose.

Senri does not call to apologize.

* * *

Soon, Rima learns the names of Senri's new friends--or rather, Takuma's friends who now know Senri.

Aido is cool, though absent-minded; the Kain boy is quiet, observant.

Ruka is beautiful, strikingly so--and Rima hates her at once.

It happens more than once in the next weeks that Senri cancels their plans together, to go be with the other nobles. For her own sake, Rima tries to join in their fun--but the bitterness in her heart refuses to yield.

It's as if she's lost him--and Takuma, too--to these thieves.

Her heart aches and crying because her newest release. She does not play cards anymore and she cannot bring herself to smile when Takuma makes a joke. Rather, she feels that the jokes are made for the benefit of those _others_--and, as such, she loses all interest.

Even Senri's laughter--rarely-heard and hard-to-find--comes quicker and lasts longer in the presence of these others.

And though she should be grateful that someone can coax the joy from her best friend...

She cannot help the sensation of being replaced.


	17. Cousins

[Cousins]

It was a matter of survival. Parties and soirees and all sorts of get-togethers that were only fun for adults, leaving the younglings to rot. The Aido clan was rather famous for those sorts of events.

Naturally, from a very young age, Hanabusa began to despise them.

* * *

When he's nine, Hanabusa decides that Akatsuki is the single most interesting member of their engorged, far-flung family. As a cousin of the Aido's black-sheep branch family of Kain, Akatsuki's mere presence at family gatherings was enough to rile Hanabusa's illustrious father. Still, the patriarch knew there was no good way to throw the boy out--better to simply tolerate him and save face.

Hanabusa remembers--vividly--approaching the red-head, who stood aloof and bored-looking in a corner; remembers slinging an arm around his shoulders--or rather, trying to. Akatsuki was tall, even then.

Mostly, though, he remembers looking up into surprised, golden-warm eyes and grinning like a shameless fool.

"Cousin," he pronounced happily.

* * *

When he's thirteen, his little sister teases him mercilessly about his pretty, golden curls and pretty, _girly_ lips. Hanabusa stalks away, expression set in furious embarrassment. He goes out onto the estate grounds and finds the tallest tree in the surrounding woodland to climb. He climbs until the branches become increasingly thinner and too weak to hold his weight. He stays there, pouting.

Several hours later, the limbs below him start to shake and he glances over the side of his perch to see Akatsuki ascending limberly toward him. His cousin makes quick work of it, because his legs are longer and his grip more sure.

He takes a seat on the branch beside Hanabusa, his back to the trunk, one leg bent for support and the other hanging free to swing below him.

Minutes passed as the wind whipped idly through their sanctuary, the setting sun just visibly through the foliage as it sank behind the horizon.

"Your father was looking for you...two hours ago."

Hanabusa's shrugged.

"He sent me to find you."

Another shrug.

Silence.

Then...

"Your hair is fine and your lips aren't girly."

Hanabusa's head whips around so quickly, the whole branch shakes. "Who told you about that?"

"Tsukiko told me she made you cry. She was very proud of herself."

"Shuddup."

They fall into silence and stay there, until the sun sinks completely behind the hills and the night sky stretches above them like an endless silken scarf, dotted with diamonds.

Only then does Hanabusa look at his cousin again.

"How'd you know where to find me?"

It's Akatsuki's turn to shrug this time.

"Just did."

Hanabusa snorts, but doesn't push further.

* * *

When they're fifteen, Kaname-sama requests that the eldest son of the Aido clan attend the newly opened Cross Academy, at his side. Hanabusa's father is thrilled to grant his requests, with bells and fanfare.

From his position on the couch beside his father, Hanabusa watches the Kuran with half-lidded eyes. A pureblood, he reminds himself; Kaname-sama, the pureblood.

The question burns in his throat, demanding to be heard.

"Of course my son will attend the academy; anything at your behest, Kaname-sama." The respectable Aido-donno inclined his head to convey obedience.

The brunette teen sitting so quietly across from the man seems bemused, though not openly. "Arigato, Aido-donno, for your generosity. It will be my great pleasure to call your son my friend."

As if a pureblood lord could call _me_ friend, Hanabusa thinks.

"Then we are pleased as well, Kaname-sama." Aido-donno bows his head again.

When the Kuran's gaze shifts to him, Hanabusa can no longer contain himself.

"Kaname-sama," he begins, "Would it be permissible that my cousin, the eldest son of the Kain family, attend as well?" Hanabusa cannot bear the thought of facing down this pureblood every rising with Akatsuki there, his sanity.

His father, on the other hand, hisses in incredulity. "Hanabusa, hold your tongue unless spoken to."

"No, it's quite alright Aido-donno." The pureblood gives the older man a reassuring--though somehow _not_--smile. "It is good that your son has such a strong familial bond. Such things are rare these days, are they not?"

Aido-donno's smile is quite obviously forced. "As it pleases you, Kaname-sama."

The pureblood's gaze fell once more on Hanabusa.

"If it is your wish that your cousin attend, then I see no reason to say no. Please, invite the son of the Kain family. I look forward to seeing you both there, at the start of term."

Hanabusa knows his manners. He bows his head and sweeps and arm across his chest, in respect. "Arigato gozaimasu, Kuran-sama."

The pureblood leaves soon after.

It's obvious from the red-faced glare Aido-donno directs at his only son that he's not quite sure whether to kill or commend him.

Hanabusa chooses that moment to make a quick exit from the formal living room.


	18. Gift

**Chip:** In honor of Yuletide, I've written this drabble today (in the space of like twenty-minutes) with the title "Gift". It's a little violent, though, because it's Kaname x Zero. Have at it, though. It's fun for the whole family. Aha, not.

Dedicated to Dale, as a partial-present.

* * *

[Gift]

With Cross Kaien as the new head of the Hunter's Association, it didn't come as a surprise to many when Kiryuu Zero's privileges as a hunter were reinstated. He roamed freely where he wanted and took liberties--he stationed himself as the liaison to the purebloods, specifically. In fact, for most of the year, he occupied a guest bedroom in their sprawling estate and worked from an attached study.

To say that Yuuki was ecstatic to have her some-time brother and long-time friend under the same roof would have been an understatement--she looked upon it as a sort of "family", the three of them. Kaname--her husband; Kiryuu--her friend.

And while they tolerated each other for her sake, both vampires knew that they could hardly be called "friends".

* * *

Kaname never knocks when he enters Zero's suite--he enters and intrudes, but never asks permission to do so. Zero doesn't press the matter because, to his thinking, it's the Kuran's fucking mansion anyway.

And it not like he can't handle himself against the arrogant prick, should need arise.

Most days, when Zero is writing his obligatory weekly report to the association president, Kaname appears in the doorway. In slacks and an unbuttoned shirt, his hair hanging into his face--and the scent of Yuuki and blood all over him. It's deliberate, of course--a reminder of what Zero can never have, never again.

Most days, Zero keeps a tight hold on his temper.

But today is not most days, because Zero is hungry and Kaname is baiting him.

He crosses the room in the space of a second, slamming the Kuran into the nearest wall hard enough to crack the plaster behind the wallpaper. The door to the study slams shut, by Kaname's will no doubt, and a cold wind blows around them both.

"Kiryuu, you misjudge me if you think I'll allow this."

"Fuck you," he mutters, his eyes burning red with blood-lust. He can see the veins in the Kuran's throat, the pulse of life. He can smell Yuuki on the other man's skin, in his hair and, maybe, in his blood.

The Kuran's rarely-seen smirk appears to taunt him. "You're rather impatient when you're lusting for something, aren't you? Never do you take the time to plan, to _think_." Very suddenly, it is Zero pinned to the wall and the Kuran looming over him, one hand pressed into the hunter's wind-pipe to hold him in place.

"For ten years, I dealt with this same hunger--the want of a taste, of a person, whom was lost to me. Beyond my reach." The fingers tightened, nails digging into flesh, "Yuuki's taste is maddening, hm? Irresistible to an unworthy creature like yourself. Damning--a taste of heaven that leaves you bound in purgatory without more, yes?"

The Kuran's smirk is cruel as he leans in close, his lips hovering a scant space above Zero's. When he speaks, his warm breath fans across Zero's face, scented of blood.

"I hope it torments you, every waking second. I hope you bear the brunt of my curse--my _hunger_--for the next ten years and ten years after that. I want you to know what it's like to want something so badly...and to have another take it from you, without remorse."

Breath comes shortly for Zero, the bloodlust thickening his throat; the Kuran's fingers cutting off the air-way. He manages to get a good enough breath...

"Fuck off...and die, bastard."

The Kuran lifts him away from the wall, momentarily, before slamming him back into the plaster again. His strength is brutal, crushing...

The smirk fades, ever so slightly, to be replaced with something colder, more unnatural. Against his bottom lips, the Kuran's fangs are apparent.

"Take heart, Kiryuu, I have a gift for you."

"I want no gifts...from _you_," Zero hisses.

Burgundy eyes narrow and before he can register the motion, Zero finds his face pressed into Kaname's throat, his fangs pressed against warm flesh. Instinct overrides pride and he bites down, rich, heady blood flooding over his tongue. It's sweet, like Yuuki; it burns, like the Kuran's touch. But it's good--he moans his pleasure--and laps his tongue over the wounds, intent on drawing more from the fount.

Abruptly he is wrenched away, flung across the room to slam into another bookcase. He struggles to find his footing, his gaze flickering through red-haze and clarity.

The Kuran is standing at the doorway again, his lips crueler than before; a hand is pressed to the already healing wounds in his neck, fingers caressing the points idly.

He gives Zero a pointed, fanged smile that tells of a victory won.

"That's all you'll have of her for a long while, Kiryuu--and I'll see you _beg_ on your knees before you'll have anymore."

And while Zero struggles to regain his own control, the Kuran is gone.

The hunter stares at the wall where moments before, he was pressed.

The plaster is cracked, the scent of blood in the air.

All that remains of his "gift" is the warm burn of pure, rich blood scalding him from the inside.


	19. Reasons

[Reasons]

To call themselves 'friends' was permissible--they made up the complete total female quota of Kaname-sama's inner circle. Ruka's position there was understood, if a little ambiguous; she loved and she waited. She pined and she ached, but she never once received.

Seiren was guardian--watcher. Like so many others, she understood what Kaname-sama meant to their world, to the society of vampires, from one level to another. Unlike so many others, however, she was more than happy to lay down her life for him--willing, even.

Rima was quiet, solid--support. Her attentions--true--were always to Takuma and Senri first and foremost. Still, her loyalty was unquestionable. Her blue eyes were the color of the night sky and twice as engulfing. There was a darkness in her that could be called upon, should the need arise. She would protect her lord--because he protected her most-loved ones.

Maybe their motives weren't the best--misguided love, duty to a greater cause and even protection of beloveds all paled in comparison to the motives the others had. However, let it never be said that they didn't have a reason at all.

They _all_ had a reason.

For Takuma, it's about friendship and the bond he's always felt between Kaname and himself, despite the lack of visible manifestation. Kaname's affection is a force to be regarded with worshipful silence--take it as it comes, in any form. For Takuma, any smile--any shared moment--is proof and more than enough reason to severe a tie to his family.

For Senri, it's all _about _family. Though they never made much of it--aloud--Kaname was his cousin and that was something that not even Senri could ignore. Perhaps it was because his mother was a shell without her fascinating, domineering pureblood tyrant; maybe it was because he understood that, eventually, his will would no longer be his own, gone the way of his body. It mattered not. In the end, for Senri, it all came down to family and knowing that if he could help Kaname escape the chains that Rido put over all he touched, he'd do so.

To Hanabusa, it's stupid simple--obvious. Kaname-sama was his friend, his mentor--his leader, his King. It didn't matter that he was in love with a human girl or that he'd killed one of his own--it was about loyalty and how he showed it. He did so in the only way he knew how. With the touch of his ice and the arctic-chill of his gaze, to scour the enemy.

To Akatsuki, it's a matter of playing the game and winning. Always he was involved in one sort of trouble or another on Hanabusa's behalf--this academy of their was rife with it. Still, there was no denying Kaname-sama's draw, his grace and his kindness. He treated Akatsuki as he treated any of the others--with distanced, polite friendship. As to his protection--it was something of a mystery to Akatsuki himself. Maybe it was the way Ruka's eyes trailed listlessly after the pureblood when he passed in the halls; perhaps it was the way Hanabusa's laughter was freer, lighter in his presence. Or, it could be because it gave him something to do and an excuse to play with his fire.

For all of them, there are reasons. Not necessarily good ones, or noble ones--or sensible ones, but there _are_ reasons.

When the Level E's flooded the gates and the Day Class was trapped inside, it was _them_ that stood against the tide.

When the Kurans fled the school crowds--Kaname towing Yuuki by the hand and carrying a limp Kiryuu Zero over one shoulder--_they_ protected the caravan of tinted, attack-safe vehicles all the way to the heart of the European continent. To a fortress in the darkness of a forest none of them had ever heard of.

When the infrastructure of their society began to tear itself apart over betrayals by the Associate and the Senate, it was _them_ that stayed to keep guard on the most treasured creatures in the whole of their world.

When Kaname-sama gathered them all in the sitting room of the fortress and asked, "Why", they all said the same thing:

"We had our reasons."


	20. Stay

[Stay]

He awakens in his bed, sitting upright in the space of a second. His eyes scanned the darkness all around, crimson-lit, searching for what could have disturbed his rest. The curtains are drawn over his windows; the door is locked. All seems to be well.

Something within him shifts, _pulls_ and he exhales on a ragged sigh; he understands now what ails him. Slipping from beneath the covers, he pads down the grand marble stairs on bare feet, unbothered by the cold. Down and down he goes, from his room on the third floor to the ground floor, and then lower still.

Through a well-hidden doorway, he descends; at the base of that stairway is another door, locked. He opens it with a thought and enters the subterranean apartments of the mansion.

Here, there are rooms--a whole suite, large enough for a family but home to only one being full-time. He passes the kitchen area, the bathroom and the bedroom. He finds her sitting in the middle of what might be called a 'den' but was rather more like a very large room with a pair of couches.

He goes to her, kneeling at her side. She's sobbing, very quietly, her tiny hands balled and pressed to her face; her hair hangs long all around her, shielding her. He keeps his tone very light and his voice soft, reassuring.

"What is wrong, Yuuki?"

She stares up at him through the fall of her bangs, her face streaked with silverine tears. "Oniichan," she says softly, "I had a nightmare." Her bottom lip trembled, "About a bad man, with mean eyes."

He feels a chill skitter down his spine, but he makes no expression. "It was only a dream, Yuuki. Let me take you back to bed."

"Oniichan, please," she whimpers, "Don't leave me in the dark with the bad man." Her eyes are solemn and frightened, over-large in her face and made bright even in the near-darkness by the sheen of her tears. Her tiny fangs bit into her bottom lip, hopeful, though her face showed clear panic.

How could he deny her?

He reaches out and takes her in his arms, carrying her close to his chest as he moved through her suite toward the bedroom. The door was closed, as if she thought she could lock the nightmares inside. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her a fraction of a bit.

He pushes the door open and then closes it behind them. There are no windows in her suite, but hung in her bedroom are tiny fairy-like lights that cast silvery light over both of them. He climbs into the bed, still holding her against him and pulls the covers over them with his mind. Yuuki shifts, to settle on the mattress but into the curve of his body, wholly. Her tiny hands clutch the blanket up to her chin and hold it there; he slings an arm around her waist, to keep her close.

"Now, Yuuki," he whispers against her hair, "_Rest."_

There's only the faintest touch of compulsion in his voice, but it's enough to send the already sleepy child off. He watches her eyes drift shut and her fingers loosen in the blankets. She breathes against him, her body brushing his with every rise and fall.

He stays there all night and wakes to Yuuki's playful poking in his side. Morning has come and he can hear Haruka and Juuri in the outer rooms of the suite, calling to them.

"Good morning, oniichan." She bubbles at him, smiles and sunshine from within. He returns her smile and runs his fingers through her wild, unruly hair--beautiful, in any way. She pulls him from the bed by his hand, tugging until he comes with her. Out into the other rooms they go, with Yuuki grinning widely.

"Kaname-nii-chan scared away the nightmares," she declares proudly.

Haruka raises an eyebrow and Juuri laughs behind her hand, because Kaname--for all that he was an ancient soul--was blushing solidly, watching the carpet.

"She asked me to stay," he mumbled, "How could I say no?"


	21. Structure

**Chip:** Here's something a little longer in the spirit of the Yuletide, guys. (Not Christmas-themed, however). Have at ye.

* * *

[Structure]

Kaname-sama's plan for vampire society was both radical and classic--the thinking of the true Kuran lord, King of the Vampires. The scant purebloods scattered across the globe assented to his wishes immediately, seeing the wisdom in his words. The nobility came after, nearly as quick though not nearly so altruistic; they came with bowing and scraping, asking to be a part of the great Kaname-sama's work; they came to be within the sight of their King, looking for privilege and power.

Never did Kaname say he would grant any vampire any such prizes, but nor did he say he would not. It suited his plans well-enough that the nobility squabbled amongst themselves for now. For too long had well-organized aristocrats meddled with the affairs of things better left to a true leader.

And the true leader he was--the King, for now and for-ever; the one and only lord. At his side would rule his Queen, the sweetest and fairest of their kind to ever have walked the face of this earth. Yuuki's discomfort of being in the eye of their society would pass, he felt sure; until then, he could only make allowances for her shy, wallflower-like behavior. She would make a wondrously fine queen for their people--a symbol and a goddess.

* * *

His first act as king came in the form of the disbanding of the Elder Council and the reforming of the Advisory Council, which would aid in his management of their far-flung brethren in other parts of the world. The nobles vied for the opportunity to be counted among this body's numbers, but in truth, there was no question, in his own mind, as to who Kaname would choose.

To Takuma went the position of Prime Minister--the King's right-hand. Also, to him went the handling of public relations and the joint affairs that the council would share with the Hunter's Association--the destruction of Level E's and cooperation in times of trouble. At first, Takuma protested his appointment to such a high-ranking position, but when Kaname refused to allow him his say, there was little else to do. Takuma _would_ be Minister of Relations, as well--and that was final.

For a son of a branch-noble family like Kain, Akatsuki was rather well-liked by the younger generation of nobles, despite the protests of the elders. To him went the position of Minister of Domestic Affairs, in which he would look after the vampires making-way in Kaname's own territories of England and Japan. Easy-going as he was, Akatsuki didn't protest the arrangement.

His cousin, of the more widely-known Aido clan, was too valuable an asset to place precariously. Hanabusa's subtle skill with flattery and negotiation couldn't be left to the shadows, especially when one took into consideration the multitude of foreign liaisons and connections he possessed--greater even than Kaname's. And so, to Hanabusa went the position of Minister of Foreign Affairs. Seemingly pleased by this position, Hanabusa spoke often of his love of travel.

To Senri and Rima went the titles of Minister of Enforcement and Minister of Information, respectively. Hand in hand, they went, as the basis of the crime and punishment system in their society. It was to their jurisdiction to gather intelligence, investigate and pursue others of their kind--or Hunters--for crimes which might have otherwise escaped notice.

Ruka was an easy soul to please and despite all that had passed between them in the past, Kaname was loathe to lose her in this transition. In quick succession, he appointed her as both Captain of the Queen's Guard and Minister of Social Affairs. Her work was to protect Yuuki with her presence--and to smooth away any wrinkles that might catch in the accomplishing of Kaname's plans.

She accepted gratefully and told Akatsuki, in near-secret, that she was simply pleased that Kaname saw fit to keep her around.

It was near-secret, of course, because Kaname need never have appointed Seiren a post--hers was an understood sort of thing. While her title was Minister of Defense, she also worked--as she always had--as Kaname's Spymaster. She went where others were unable to go and saw, heard and experienced what others might not. She was the eyes of Kaname's ministry and his assurance, that he might never be left unawares of any plot, goings-on or affair.

* * *

There was no official posting to match Ruka's own as Captain of the Queen's Guard--no guard for the King. It was a given understanding, however, that if such a post were to exist it was Hanabusa's. Akatsuki knew it, Ruka knew--Seiren, for all that she enjoyed their healthy competition in the service of their lord, knew it too.

* * *

The whole of the nobility might have been under the delusion that the posts on the Council were of equal opportunity to any of them--but as before, Kaname never had doubts.

There were some, later, who mumbled that he'd stacked the Council--the body which should check-and-balance the power of the King--with his lackeys and lap-dogs. Word of that got around to Seiren, who made quiet mention to both Hanabusa and Rima, who then informed Akatsuki and Senri. Senri told Takuma. Akatsuki told Ruka, gently.

Two weeks after the appointment of the council members, a grand total of fifty-two duels of honor were fought. They came under many guises and with a dozen different excuses, but the true reasons were always the same.

Kaname's fairness, as a monarch, could _never_ be doubted.

And, of the fifty-two duels fought, twenty-six of them went to Ruka alone.

* * *

One evening, at a grand gala hosted by a lesser nobleman looking to curry favor, Yuuki-sama disappeared. Akatsuki, from across the room, saw the panic in Ruka's eyes and assured her he would take care of it.

It took only a moment of thought and a short walk of five minutes to find the missing queen. The villa sat on the edge of an ancient cliff over-looking the sea; Yuuki-sama stood atop a great stone on the very precipice, eyes turbulent. Her hair had broken free of its arrangement and whipped around her body in the chill wind. Her dress, made of silk, offered no protection from the elements.

"Yuuki-sama, Ruka is very worried about you. She said you disappeared very suddenly, in the crowd."

The queen's head bowed. "I needed to escape. I heard...awful things..."

Akatsuki's brow lifted. "Awful things, milady?"

"Hai."

The barest scent of salt in the air could have been the sea, but then again, perhaps not. It was at times like this, when the queen took her leave of parties and festivities, that Akatsuki was reminded that she hadn't been one of them for very long. A human once--or at least, so she'd thought.

These parties were not her sort of activity.

Akatsuki sighed.

"Yuuki-sama, I will inform Ruka that you were in need of fresh air; however, don't linger outside for too long." He paused, looking outward at the rolling sea. "You may not be human, milady, but you're not made of stone."

Her smile was half-formed and her cheeks were wet as she looked at him. "Don't I know it," she whispered. Then, she waved.

He left her to her thoughts.

* * *

When Kaname-sama makes his quarterly visit to the Hunter's Association, Takuma must make arrangements. As per his usual routine, their lord waved off his unofficial guard--which left Hanabusa to sulk.

Unwilling to have Hanabusa peddling around the lord's manor for yet _another_ week of inactivity, Takuma assigned him to work with Senri and Rima for the time being.

By the end of the third day, Hanabusa complained of being overtired and locked himself in his chambers. When Senri came to fetch him for "work", Hanabusa chucked a pair of superbly expensive Italian shoes at the door and threatened to do worse should anyone try to disturb him for the next four days.

Takuma, hearing of this, smiled.

He felt so _accomplished_.

* * *

Though it might have been a bit of a shock to the vampire world at large, Kaname-sama's plans were _new_. To wipe out the corruption of the previous centuries and to rebuild their once-glorious, civilized society, Kaname needed to rearrange, rewrite and generally revamp--no pun intended--everything their race had known in recent times.

It wasn't going to be easy and it would take a long while. It would take a strong, fair King who was both ruler and friend to his people; personable and iconic. It would take an advisory body that the King could trust and cooperation with the Hunters, which had never been the Elders' strong suit.

It would take _work_.

Still, Kaname was pleased to see that with the aid of those people he'd once called classmates--and pawns--things were going smoothly ...and according to plan.


	22. Dissent

[Dissent]

In Kaname's new kingdom, Yuuki feels an odd-sense of disconnectivity. There's parties and galas and foreign nobles to meet; socials and banquets and spider-webbed politics to defeat. More often than not, she feels like a ballerina wearing stone slippers, dancing over a stage of egg-shells. She does her best--or at least, she tries--but always, she feels eyes on her.

She's uncomfortable, unbalanced and uneasy.

In this new world that was--once-upon a time--her _old_ world, she's playing a part with a faltering smile and unsure, exactly, how the rules work.

* * *

As her queen's social-escort and companion, Ruka is the first to note the minor absences and disappearances of her lady. It doesn't happen _too_ often--not enough to attract attention--but just enough to rouse Ruka's own suspicions.

The first dozen or so times, she goes searching for her queen--and finds her, most often, in the powder room or some out-of-the-way nook. Always, Yuuki-sama is pale in the face and her eyes are downcast; the bitter scent of salt lingers in the air where she sits.

After it happens again--more and more frequently--Ruka leaves the queen to her thoughts. Instead, she makes patrols of the room; she takes in conversations as she passes and tests the waters.

It is in those times that she first hears the whispers.

"Kaname-sama says she's his sister--a child the Kurans never spoke of--but how likely is that? Is such a fool-tale to be believed?" The male vampire who spoke stood in a knot of others on the outskirts of the main floor. His companions bore the same unkind expression he did.

The woman standing beside him was nodding. "Regardless of whether or not she's the child of the Kurans--though I don't believe it, myself--she's a complete airhead. Did you see her, at the moon-viewing banquet in France? Staring open-mouthed at the sky like a child--as if she'd never seen the moon before. What an unpolished display."

Several others nodded.

"And she has no mind for politics, either. I asked her, in passing, what she thought of the disparagement in the contracts between the Yamada clan and their merchant brethren in the Kawa family. She just stayed quiet--until her companion rescued her from her blunder."

Ruka could recall that particular incident well enough; Yuuki was completely unaware of the squabbles of a common-vampire clan. How was she to know anything about that? It had been an unfair question to ask.

Another male in the knot of dissenters made a rude sound. "She's an impostor--have no doubt. She's clearly of our species, but she acts such much like those worthless humans --so uncouth. She's got some witchery, I'll bet--a gift. Maybe she's the ill-get daughter of a little-known noble, with some strange magic. She's probably just trying to make a name for herself."

Several others voiced their agreement.

Ruka felt her eyebrows come together; her fists clenched at her sides. She was standing behind a pillar, mere feet from those simpletons--she fought the urge to _compel_ that last man to spill his wine all over the complaining woman's pretty white dress.

But no. Gathering herself and moving away slowly, Ruka's thoughts turn in a direction of their own.

She needs to speak with Akatsuki.


	23. Almost

[Almost]

Zero's pride is a crazed, half-mysterious force. It stands between him and all the world's charity; between him and the girl who would give everything to make his life easier.

It is that pride which keeps Zero away from her; which keeps him from taking what she so eagerly--unknowingly--tempts him with daily.

One evening, the Chairman leaves the academy for no specific purpose--"to run errands", he claimed. Zero took the patrol of the Sun Dormitory and grounds closest, while Yuuki went in the other direction. The choice of patrols was ill-advised in his case; the senses of a vampire told him that just beyond his reach there were dozens and dozens of warm, human bodies in the dormitory--filled with warm, delectable, life-sustaining blood.

His fangs slipped downward so fast they puncture his lip.

Later, that evening, he returns to the Chairman's house and meets Yuuki, as arranged. As was protocol, they delivered their reports though the Chairman himself was absent. When they'd assured each other of the all-clear for the evening, Yuuki went about arranging tea. Zero accepted the offer, though he knew he wouldn't finish the beverage.

The Chairman--a fan of tea and tea-making--would never resort to keeping tea-bags in his home. Instead, there were tins of herbs to be dropped into a tea-kettle. Yuuki began to cut the leaves in two, splitting them to release their natural essence.

It happened so quickly.

Yuuki's gasp is quicker than a lightning strike and the scent that suddenly fills the air is twice as deadly to both of them. Hot, scalding hunger crawls up the back of Zero's throat. He balls his hands into fists at his side, fighting the desire to leap across the room.

Blood. Yuuki's blood.

He swallows; his tongue feels thick with need. He needs to drink, to fill himself--to _gorge_ himself on her. The hunger rises like a beast within him, raising its head and scenting the air.

Catching the scent of _prey_.

Before Yuuki can turn around, Zero is slamming his way out the door; the whole frame of the doorway rattles with his brute strength. He streaks out into the night, running as fast--or maybe a little faster--than humanly possible.

With the beast's hearing, he can hear Yuuki calling out to him--but he doesn't stop. She doesn't know what kind of monster he's becoming--and he cannot bear to show her.

Let her think anything she likes.

Her assumptions would be better than the truth.


	24. Suitors

[Suitors]

Ruka hates when men follow at her heels.

The class president of the day class is a short, ridiculously annoying human named Yugito and Ruka can't bring herself to give him the time of day. He pesters her with questions and offerings of "companionship".

She'd rather toast herself.

On Valentine's, he offers her a bouquet of faux chocolate-flowers.

She turns away, disgusted by the half-melted mediocrity.

On another day, he gives her an arrangement of red roses and wishes her happy birthday--in September. She does not take the flowers from his hands; instead, she informs him that it is _not_ her birthday.

For Christmas, she finds a pink box secured with a green ribbon--and a half-frozen Yugito standing on the steps of the Moon Dormitory. She's tempted to call the prefects, but refrains.

She has no intentions of stepping foot into the icy snow-drifts outside the door and stays inside with a cup of hot-cocoa, content to watch the stupid human turn blue.

At the yearly ball, the ever persistent Yugito approaches her for a dance--Ruka is annoyed. She has no desire to dance with some unthinking mortal dweeb.

* * *

Akatsuki knows Ruka hates when men follow at her heels.

He goes to great lengths to make sure she never believes _he_ is doing just that.

On Valentine's, he leaves a box of French chocolates on her bed. Inside each morsel is a whole cherry and its juice. He makes himself scarce for the rest of the day.

But Ruka thanks him with a smile the following evening.

In November, for her birthday, he fills a large crystal vase with violets--her favorite flower--and leaves the vase on an end-table in her room. Again, he is not there to see her immediate reaction.

But she lingers beside him as they walk to class, instead of striding past him as she might normally do.

For Christmas, he rises early--a troublesome thing--and moves down into the dormitory's sparsely kept kitchen to begin preparations. Then, while the water boils, he takes her present down from its hiding place and places it on the coffee table in the living room.

When he returns ten minutes later, Ruka is seated at the living room couch with her new music-box in her hands. He takes the present from her and puts it on the table, replacing it with a cup of hot-cocoa.

There are no thankyou's involved but together they sit and share quiet smiles of glee at the sound of chattering teeth coming from just beyond the doorway.

At the yearly ball, Akatsuki sees the human called Yugito approach; in his own clumsy, foolish way the man bubbles over with joy. Stuttering, he pleads for a dance.

Ruka is unimpressed.

The human's face is crestfallen.

Akatsuki, who stands not three feet from her against the wall, turns his head to watch Yugito merge back into the faceless human crowd. Then, with the smallest of shrugs, he reaches out to capture her hand; with little resistance, he pulls her with him onto the edge of the main floor and then in closer, to allow himself the pleasure of putting his other hand on her hip.

She smiles up at him, half amused and then shakes her head minutely.

"Some men have no class, Akatsuki." Her smile is secretive. "But for you, I make an exception."

Her smile is also _his_, but that's not something they speak about.


	25. Sparkly

[Sparkly]

What dreamlands vampires played in--a land of clouds and beautiful soft silk and sweet, sweet _darkness_. Hanabusa curled into the shadowy land of bliss and purred his pleasure. Never had there been anything as wonderful as--

_"SUNLIGHT!!!!!!!!" _

Yowling like a cat on fire, Hanabusa sat upright in bed so fast that his image blurred; his hands clawed frantically for the bedside curtains which secluded his little haven from the world--and most importantly, from the _morning_.

"Rise and shine, Aido-kun! It's a new, wonderful day!"

Fighting with the curtains--the damn things were _stuck_--Hanabusa glared through one half-open eye at the hazy figure of Takuma standing at the foot of his bed. The vice-dormitory leader's smile was _almost_ as bright as the sunlight.

And _twice_ as galling.

"Ichijo! It's only nine o'clock! Why in the name of blood-rights would make you think this is a good hour to wake _me?_" Hanabusa whined, tugging harder on the curtains. In his frustration, the fabric ripped, shredding between his fingers.

Hanabusa stared at the material, disgusted.

"_Come on_, Aido-kun! It's a wonderful day to be alive! And do you know why, hm? Because!" He waved something in front of Hanabusa's face, but the half-awake blue gaze refused to focus.

"What's that?" He mumbled.

"What's this? Oh, Aido-kun, you're so oblivious!" Takuma danced around in his spot, "_This_ is the newest volume of the most epic manga series of all time--and _I_...got...it..._early!!!!_" The last syllables went up an octave too high for Hanabusa's patience. His eyebrow twitched.

"Ichijo, I swear--if you don't get out of this room...I'm going to _kill_ you...in the most...slow...and _painful_ way...that I can contrive."

"Oi, oi--no need to be so grumpy! Fine, fine--I'll go!" And just like that, the troublesome vice-leader was bounding out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. His voice, however, carried still as he chirped loud "good mornings" to the entire dormitory at large.

Hanabusa collapsed against his pillow, throwing one forearm over his eyes wearily.

From across this room, Akatsuki glanced at him. As his roommate, his poor cousin suffered his fate as well.

"I will bet my fire against your ice for who has to pull the drapes on the window."

"Hell no," Hanabusa hissed. Resolutely, he pulled the blankets over his head and did his best to shut his higher-level hearing _off_.

Takuma's greetings had moved on from "good morning" to "salutations".

Personally, Hanabusa had no problem with his vice-leader.

But did he have to be so damned _sparkly_ in the morning?


	26. About

**Chip:** Hey guys, this one has a warning on it. Beware the shounen-air/slash going on in this drabble. It's Rido x Haruka, so if that makes you uncomfortable for any reason, run away. (Though really, I can't imagine how it could be unappealing to anyone who read or watched VK, but that's just me.) So there, fair warning. For this chapter and the one after next. Forewarned.

* * *

[About]

It's never been a matter of superiority; superiority had no place in the bed they occasionally shared and there certainly wasn't room for gloating in the hastily taken breaths and half-panted curses that slipped between their lips.

No, it wasn't about superiority.

It was about domination.

They ripped into each other with claws and fangs; blood flowed into their kisses and over their chins to drip on pale, flat chests. Haruka liked to lick his wounds and Rido liked to inflict them; the combination worked out nicely for them.

It was never about Juuri, never. Not in this bed, where they broke all rules and dismissed all traditions. It wasn't about soulmates or betrothed-ones; never about the rivalry and the betrayal.

Never.

it was about giving into the heat that built between them in the tension-filled silences; about the need to pull, push and _pound_; the desire to be rougher than sweet, lovely Juuri could ever condone. Neither of them denied their baser, wilder instincts here and that was the point of it. So what if they tore the bed-sheets into a thousand silken strips? Rido used them to tie Haruka's hands to the headboard and gag his mouth.

Let his prideful otouto command his way like _that_.

It was never about destiny or power; no, never. Because destiny, as they'd already learned, was subject to their will and power was a fleeting mistress. Oh, they knew that in the end they'd have to give this up--the press of bodies and the stretching, aching heat of being one. Give it all up and play by the rules.

Haruka had Juuri to look after; Rido had his power--stupid mistress--to chase, his own will to forge. Paths crossed, converged and melded together; bodies and souls and hearts, one and many.

The complexity of their time spent in bed was both little and grand; it was about domination and lust and heated evenings; it was about taking what they both _wanted_, maybe even needed.

It was never about superiority, or Juuri or even betrayal and power.

Those were just the little lies they let themselves believe, in the falling silence when their ragged breaths finally stilled.


	27. Sketch

**Chip:** Some slash, though light. Aido x Zero, so don't bitch if ya don't like it.

* * *

[Sketch]

Hanabusa would never speak of it aloud, but obsessions were the bane of his semi-peaceful existence. The moonlit shine of dew on a lily's petal could distract him completely from the monotony of classwork; the flutter of leaves on the very delicate ends of failing sapling-branches and the scattered visions of shadows between them--he was _very easily_ distracted.

Akatsuki was understanding of his needs--his desires--and kept watch when Hanabusa went dashing off into the darkness of the campus grounds to sketch this little thing, or that odd-end. As cousins and as friends--Akatsuki was always there to draw him back from the obsession, to keep him from being consumed.

But there was one subject from which there had never been any rescue--one form which filled endless pages in numerous sketchbooks, all of them piled in neat formations in the corner of their bedroom. It was the same shape, over and over; a sharply elegant, though unrefined figure of deadly, brooding grace.

From a tall pine tree, Hanabusa watched; Akatsuki, ever-near, sat on the branch directly to his left, head lolling against the wind-smoothed bark. The only sounds that came to them were the whispering, rattle-shake of the wind in the leaves and the gentler, natural sounds of the ground animals.

And, of course, the quiet _scratch-scratch_ of Hanabusa's charcoal pencil over the blank canvas of the page. The blonde's lips were set in determined study, his eyes serious and his hair pushed haphazardly behind his ears. He nibbled his bottom lip with a fang, pondering--no doubt--the placement of a certain line or curve.

Akatsuki glanced down at the pad, even though he knew what he would find.

Sure enough, it was that figure again. Tall, slim, lithe; hair with no style but rather a strict conduct of hanging down behind curved, small ears; those ears, with their rings on either side. A straight, proud nose--not quite aristocratic but dignified and strong. A thin, pointed chin and eyes that were far too serious in shape; eyebrows that sat low in observation and shoulders relaxed in a state of passivity.

The lines of the uniform were familiar and the hands, tucked into the pockets; the stance sat the figure was unworried and the cocky, half-turned smirk on one corner of the lips spoke of vague amusement.

The shadows on every side of the figure, however, loomed greater than the height of the drawing itself; a danger, omnipresent.

Hanabusa finally leaned back against the bark, his hand falling idle and the pencil sitting lightly between his fingertips; he took in the whole of his work with a sweep gaze from beneath his lashes.

Akatsuki could see the tremor go through his cousin, but he did not speak of it.

But the whispered name that slips between Hanabusa's lips says it all; it's agony and want and obsession. Because it's _always_ been obsession with him.


	28. Share

**Chip:** Hey guys, this one has a warning on it. Beware the shounen-air/slash going on in this drabble (though it's very slight). The basic pairing is Juuri x Rido/Juuri x Haruka; it's also Rido x Haruka though, so if that makes you uncomfortable for any reason, run away. (Though really, I can't imagine how it could be unappealing to anyone who read or watched VK, but that's just me.) So there, fair warning.

* * *

[Share]

Her head is thrown back against his shoulder; hair the color of teak spills down around her thin shoulders and over his knuckles, where he grasps her forearms to hold her still. She's in his lap, weak and limp with blood-loss; the material of her thin dress crumpled over her thighs and between her fingers in her attempt to keep from crying out. Her eyes, dark like the blood that flows between them, are wide and sightless. She stares up at the roof, like a porcelain doll. A broken belle-doll, in his arms.

His lips linger idly over her throat, though he's taken more than his fill already. Still, there is something thrilling in kissing his way up her smooth, chill skin to the soft curve of her ear; something that makes him burn as he nibbles the lobe lightly. Her mouth falls open in a little gasp that's half-shock, half-pleasure.

He delights in her surrender, and in stealing her will so thoroughly.

Just then, the room is no longer so private; framed in the open doorway is the person to whom she is betrothed--whom their parents say she _belongs_ to.

"Haruka," he whispers, giving his little brother an unkind smile. "She is so _sweet_; so very _wasted_ on one such as you." He kisses her throat, the stained skin were her blood lingers though the wounds have closed.

In a moment, Haruka is there in front of him and Juuri is ripped from his arms; he lets her go, his fun over for now. There's no point in doing battle when their parents--interfering fools--are home.

Haruka cradles her body close to his chest, supporting her with both arms. His eyes glow crimson; there's _threat_ written into every inch of him. His fangs make pointed indents against his lower lip.

"You had no _right_, Rido." He's angry--so very angry. There are few things in the world that Rido likes more than to watch Haruka tremble with rage--Haruka, the untouchable, unshakeable Haruka.

His grin is equal part satisfaction and impending promise.

"That's your problem, otouto; you never learned to _share_."


	29. Collision

[Collision]

_Lovers_.

_"Tomorrow and any day I ask, you will accompany Yuuki to and from class; as my lover , this is her right."_

Kaname's words were like a knife in his heart. Hanabusa cringed with every step he took, catching Cross Yuuki's scent with every breath. Catching the scent of Kaname in her hair and on her skin.

_Lovers._

Once upon a time, when he'd been young and foolish, Hanabusa made the mistake of telling Kaname--and an entire ballroom full of eavesdropping kin--that he loved him. At that age, he hadn't known what to make--entirely--of his affections, but he knew he _loved_ Kuran Kaname.

It was shameful, how he couldn't let it go. But Kaname-sama was both a fixation and a very real obsession.

Perhaps that is why Ruka and himself got along as they did. It was an understanding of a mutual consumption. An infection. A plague.

_Lovers_.

What was worse, he wondered. Losing the spot that might have been his--hell, even Ruka's--to the twig of a mortal or ...

Hating Kaname for stealing the next-best-thing right out from under him?

Oh, Cross Yuuki might never have been _his_, surely, but she was far from out of his reach. She was very much within his reach, actually. Her slim fragile neck and her lips, parting always in a gasp. Her eyes a shade or two lighter than Kaname's and more innocent; breakable.

Her hair, even, was like Kaname's. Wasn't it strange, how good a substitute she made for his ...desires?

Alas, obsession mixing with fixation; one, right after the other. If he could not be with Kaname and he could not be with the chit that looked so much like him in her diminished,_ human_ way...

It was a collision of worlds and Hanabusa was left very much...uncomfortable and bereft by the premature sense of loss.


	30. Proven

[Proven]

The stench of ex-human vampires is a heavy miasma, clouding his nostrils and burning in the back of his throat; it's a slime-coating on his sensitive tongue. Their distorted, blood-hungry expressions tell him there's no hope for peace; these hopeless creatures can not be negotiated with.

Dully, he knows that the senseless slaughter of these unfortunates will probably upset the princess. And for a moment--just a moment--he hesitates to action. They all do.

It's a moment too long. Rido's pets are at them like vultures to carrion; like jackals at the lion's kill. And that deranged, murderous pureblood--he's at the princess like a man starved for blood-and-body for too long. Hanabusa knows the look. Knows the risk.

But their helpless. Some strange force holds them pinned still and the ex-humans are at their throats; the sting of an unpracticed, inelegant bite along his collar bone and the slide of fangs into his flesh--he ignores them. His gaze is on the princess; on her wide, frightened gaze and the way Rido's arms hold her close. Possessively.

And those eyes--mismatched and miscoloured--they're touching over the princess's face like a caress, taking in her struggle and her panic. Hanabusa feels the fury mounting in him--and another ex-human, attacking the pulse-point along his wrist--and he growls, low, with frustration.

For a moment--another moment of hesitation--those disturbing eyes of sapphire and blood-ruby flicker upward to meet his and Hanabusa stares Rido down with blatant hatred seething under his skin. He's venomous.

But the pureblood is stronger--they both know it--and he fears naught from an aristocrat. The antagonistic, amused smirk that hovers a mere inch from Yuuki-sama's fluttering pulse is predatory and conceited.

_"And she's all mine, brat...like she was always meant to be."_

The insidious whisper in his head is dark, velvety and pure evil. Pale lips open wide and fangs glint in the silver moonlight as Rido goes in for her blood; for the kill.

Is it because she is Kaname-sama's chosen, or because Rido's touch on her is revolting to him? Is it because he sees triumph in the Kuran monster's gaze or because Yuuki-sama seems to have closed her eyes on the inevitable?

Hanabusa cannot say. At that moment, with all his attention focused on the princess and her pale, stricken expression, he _screams_ his denial.

The flash of light is silver-blue in the near darkness of the night and outshines even the moon's luster--appropriately. The scent of powerful, ancient blood fills the air and drowns the stink of the brainless creatures; shock like lightning ramps through all of them and even the ex-humans pull back from their captured meals, stark fear written on their taut faces.

Hanabusa has never seen that light before, but glancing first from wide slash of crimson across Rido's torso and shoulder to the glow that seemed to hover beyond the extension of Yuuki-sama's arm, he could surmise...

"Artemis..."

Her body bent low for combat, her chin held up in defiance; above her head, their princess wielded the weapon that should have--by all accounts--been forbidden to her. And she looked across the expanse of their small battle ground, to stare the monster of darkness and nightmares directly in the eye.

"I am a guardian," she said. "And I will protect the students of this academy; not just the Day Class, but the Night Class as well!"

Rido's lips tipped up in a half-smirk, watching her. But Yuuki-sama paid him little attention, pivoting one heel to swing the mighty length and weight of the Artemis Rod at the ex-humans.

The veined, wicked glaive-end of the weapon caught the moonlight and bent it into a gilded threat, boring down on the weak trembling blood-fiends.

And with all the commanding _will_ of a pureblood queen, she said, "Now get away from them!"

Like mice before a jaguar the ex-humans took a collected gasp of fear and shuddered, a great mass of abused bodies fleeing from the aristocrats. The spell holding them hostage was broken, they were free.

But Hanabusa has eyes only for Yuuki-sama and the power she wields in her voice, eyes, and hands; a power she radiated from the inside, where it seemed to have been buried and compounded.

She is a force all her own and very suddenly, he can think of no greater goal than to see her victorious.

If his eyes are calm and cold, like the ice he wields, it is only because the hand holding her scythe so strongly is just as steady.

If his posture is confident, it is only because she wields that same belief in her voice.

If his lips are set in a smile of complete, unabashed arrogance, it is only because his princess has finally--_finally_--proven and provoked the unbridled passion he's always known she possessed.

Come what may, he would follow her to hell itself.


	31. Plot

[Plot]

After spending the greater portion of the last eight years together, Rima has become an expert on Senri. She knows him better than anyone, save Takuma; she knows him inside-out, knows the secrets nobody else does.

Rima knows about the father he's never seen and the mother he mourns for, though she still lives. She knows his six favorite flavors of pocky and how he hates tofu in his miso; she buys his preferred brand of shampoo _for_ him, because its a product meant for girls.

Those are just the little things, of course, but they make up the foundation of all her convictions, all her truths. Senri is her friend and Rima loves him--everything else in the world is variable, but never that.

Except, when Senri leaves for break and comes back, his eyes are different and he gives her the coldest, cruelest smile she's ever witnessed on his lips.

She _knows_ with a surety that stems from all their time together, that something is very wrong.

* * *

The way Takuma's gaze skitters away from hers and the way his smile is awkward, even in the evenings--she knows he's aware of the change in their friend. But from the way he clings to Senri's arm in the halls and the way he dogs the red-heads footsteps on the grounds...

There is something very wrong with Senri and Takuma was keeping it quiet, the traitor.

* * *

She finds the other blonde in the halls late one evening--or rather, very early one morning. Her temper isn't an infamous thing in the dormitory, but Takuma has known her for too long to easily mistake the metallic edge of her blue-violet eyes. She pins him to the wall, despite her much smaller stature and presses one palm against his chest.

"You _will_ tell me what's wrong with Senri, Takuma-kun." Her voice is deadly patient and very quiet. Her fingertips glow, flicker; small currents of electricity arch between them, a threat.

"He's ill, Rima-chan, I promise." He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he's lying and Takuma has never been an exceptional liar. His pulse flutters at his throat and Rima's eyes focus there. She rises on her tip-toe, her lips caressing the Takuma's skin, a slightly warmer-cream than Senri's.

"Rima-chan..."

"Sssh, Takuma; if you're going to take my Senri from me and lie to everyone, then _I_, at the very least, will have the truth." Her tongue darted out, marking, warning. Takuma's head fell back against the wall, his eyes shut.

Rima's other hand rose to bury itself along the fine hairs along Takuma's nape, holding him with the strength that was hers by nature. Her lips parted wide, her fangs descended and with the grace of the feline predators, she buried them in the other blonde's throat, drawing the blood from his body and with it, the thoughts from his mind.

Takuma's hand fluttered uselessly in the air on either side of them, before coming to rest on her hips. He pulled her closer, tighter and tilted his head back to give her better access.

In both their minds--echoing so as to make it impossible to decipher who the thought belong to--there was whisper of sound...

_"Senri..."_

* * *

Later, lying in Rima's bed--because the being that was not-Senri occupied Takuma's joint-room--Takuma touched Rima's bare shoulder. The coverlet of silk covered both their bodies from the waist down, with one of Rima's arms covering her breast demurely as she tucked herself into Takuma's arms.

They were both distinctly aware of the missing body in this bed, the one that would usually have been between them, one arm thrown haphazardly over each other them.

But Senri was gone, buried deep in his own body and therefore out of their reach, for the time being.

The taste of Takuma's blood was still on her tongue, and in her body.

"If we lose him because of this," she said quietly, "I will kill Kaname-sama."

And though Takuma doesn't say anything in reply, she knows he's in perfect agreement.

After-all, his thoughts flowed in his blood and his blood flowed in her.


	32. Exhibitionists

[Exhibitionists]

Fifteen feet apart from each other and distanced by the glow of lightning on the highly polished marble floor, they stand. Ruka sips her bloodied champagne, her back to one of the wide Romanesque columns that line the grand dance floor; Akatsuki reclines casually against the edge of an unused table, a sifter of blood-touched cognac in one hand.

The dancers on the floor spun idly in the turns of some movement or another; the orchestra's song was too distant and the waltz wasn't Akatsuki's sort of dance anyway. He took a long, slow sip of his drink; the rich, full fire of the alcohol slid over his tongue, as his gaze skimmed over the curve of Ruka's bare shoulder.

Her gown was light and pale amber-gold in color, highlighting the color of her eyes. She took care to leave her hair down this evening, one of her well-cared-for curls sliding over her shoulder where Akatsuki's gaze lingered. She smiled down into her flute of champagne before bringing the fine crystal to her lips and taking the smallest, most delicate sip, teasing her palette with the tingle and fizz.

Akatsuki's hot gaze traveled from her shoulder, up her throat; attuned to her every breath and shift, he could hear the rapid flutter of her heartbeat in his ears and the flustered blush warm across her high cheekbones.

The way he taps his forefinger against his sifter draws her attention; it's just a slide of her eyes from one corner of the room to the other, but he's well-aware of having gaze solely on him. Not on Kaname; not on Yuuki, who's dancing the waltz with Hanabusa.

Her eyes are on him. On him, where they belong.

He raises his glass again, but he does not drink. Instead, he locks his gaze to hers and lets his lips curl upward in the confident smile he's been biting back all night. She's his, as surely as the fire in his blood or the cognac wavering like a golden pool in his sifter.

She knows it; the knowledge is in her eyes, all over her body. It's in the small quantity of blood he tipped into her champagne when he brought it to her; it's in the flush of awareness and the warm, curling scent of her desire.

It's in the way she does not dance with anyone but Akatsuki and the way that--with just the tap of his fingers against the side of his glass--her entire world narrows to him.

With the smile still gracing his lips, he takes the cognac into his mouth; he tilts the glass upward and finishes his drink all at once, relishing the hint of her blood that lingers under the alcohol. His gaze _scorches_ over her, laying claim.

And then, very suddenly, he is standing before her; his body is hot against hers, his energy burning over her. He raises the champagne flute slowly to her lips and tilts it; she takes the alcohol down easily, her eyes locked to his helplessly.

When it is done, he takes the glass in hand and crushes it between his fingers. The ring of braking crystal is slight and no one turns to glance at them; he lets the pulverized shards fall, a shower of glittering fragments.

"Come," he says quietly, "let's dance."

She ducks her head, her long hair veiling her expression; her hand goes into his and he pulls her gently into him, sliding his arm over her shoulders. He leads her away from the post she's held most of the evening and past the dance floor entirely.

They take a stroll down the darkened hall of the villa, and are lost from the banquet until dawn.


End file.
